thatnight.net

There’s something immensely satisfying about blogging from a fantastic little white MacBook in a city-sized Barnes and Noble Starbucks while wearing a quaint navy blue sweater and peering into the infinite rows of bold-colored book spines.

It makes me want to buy heels, or try on princess-cut solitaire engagement rings (of which I’m a size six according to the wonderful gray-haired woman at Kay Jewelers), or flip through Vogue and pretend I know what Burberry is.

Or run out and marry an conceited politician who laughs heartily along with suit-clad associates while swirling a glass of brandy and complimenting his wife’s gorgeous black CK cocktail dress.

How can people be that arrogant on a daily basis without exhausting themselves? I’m worn out just from the daydream.

I just name-dropped about 10 brands. I should throw a © in here somewhere.

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It’s finally October and it feels like Halloween.

I think that Halloween has almost always been my favorite holiday. Maybe it’s because it occurs during Fall, the most unique of the four seasons (in my opinion). Everything is cooling off and I’m able to comfortably sleep under piles of blankets, even though the weather is still bearable enough that I don’t have to worry about freezing to death when I’m walking to class in the morning.

When I think of Halloween, I think of cute sweaters, haunted houses, and bold color. Throughout high school, I volunteered at a local haunted house. Every night, I would don a ragged, ripped white dress and spend an hour perfecting corpse-like makeup so that I could spend the majority of an evening lurking and creeping through an old house in the hopes of scaring at least the small children.

That haunted house burned down last year. It was a good one too.

But I can’t wait to start touring the area for houses again. I’m planning on branching out to the surrounding states since I’ve already been to the at least 20 houses in the Pittsburgh area at least 20 times.

And I can’t wait to go to a pumpkin patch. Or to watch the TV specials. Why can’t Christmas be as light and stress-free?

By the way, TCM: The Beginning, The Grudge 2, and Saw III are coming out this month. I know I’m excited.

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About once a year, me and my friends drive to a local amusement park and work two 16-hour days as a fundraiser. Usually, they have us working the kiddie rides or carousels. This year, I was assigned to hold a height-stick in front of one of those large, rickety, 240-foot falling contraptions. I like coasters, but I can’t deal with a verticle drop. I made that clear when they asked me to test-ride the thing on Saturday morning.

The guys who actually controlled the tower were two flamboyant black men (Andre and Saul) who had me laughing nonstop all weekend.

Every once in a while, as different workers circulated through and helped with the crowds, someone would shout out a number. No one seemed to take much notice. I figured it was technical when every once in a while I’d hear, “TWENTY FOUR!” or “FIFTY TWO!” after some people were loaded in the death cage sent up to plunge right back down again.

It was Sunday afternoon that Andre called over to me. “Ohmigod Rachel! You poor thing, you don’t know the numbers game!”

I didn’t.

“Well,” he continued, “when you see a particularly ugly person, like maybe they have a mullet or a mohawk or a side ponytail, you take the number of their car plus the number of their seat and put them together. Car 5, seat 2, would be 52.”

A moment late, four guests sat in car 6. As they sat there, Andre screamed, “SIXTY!” After they were strapped in and sent away, I looked over to him. He slapped his head like he remembered something and yelled over to me once more. “Girl, I forgot, you stick a zero on the end if the whole damn lot of ‘em is ugly.”

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My favorite part about being in a sorority is the old stuff. Our house is packed with albums, pictures, clothes, yearbooks, etc., that are from the 60’s on up. When I was initiated, I was passed down an extremely old but usable jacket stitched with the name “Melinda.”

I love wearing it around campus. As I walk through the Union, I wonder if in the 60’s, Melinda was walking through the same place, in the same jacket. I wonder if she had curls and ribbons in her bouffant hair, and what plans she had that night. And was the dress she was wearing beneath it knee-length? Floral? What color tights did she wear with it?

And I wonder if Melinda knew that she’d pass her jacket down a line of sisters and it would still be worn in 2006; during a time when a girl would wear it with jeans and a pony-tail and would be planning on going to a mixer that very night with a fraternity that was also around during her time.

Sometimes I wish I was in a sorority during that time period – when they wore sweaters, had campus curfews, and were more concerned with marriage than mixers.

And sometimes I don’t.

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I realize that the general consensus agrees that Tom Cruise is the psychotic source of all evil on Earth and could kill a family of friendly squirrels with his devil eyes and fashion little squirrel coats with his jagged teeth after using the blood to wash down a meal of placenta, but Suri Cruise is undoubtedly one of the most gorgeous babies I’ve ever seen. She’s beautiful. And I want one.

I can’t quite decide which parent she looks like the most, but I’m pretty sure that (at least for the time being), they’re all finally being portrayed as a somewhat normal family. And those eyes make it seem as if that little baby knows exactly what’s going on. About everything.

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Everyone is losing their minds over the new Facebook news feeds. Ok, I’ll admit, when I first saw the facelift, I said it. “Uh…this is kind of stalkerish.” But now? I mean, let’s face it (AHAHA). If you’re going to add the entire student body as your friends, how are you going to complain, if, I don’t know…

And how many anti-groups popped up instantly? Probably around 738.

It must go? Go where? I know you, you obsessive students. You love the news feeds. Otherwise, you’d be the ones deleting your accounts, rather than using one of Facebook’s own features to rebel.

I kind of love how they call them stories.

And poor Mike, right? But really, if Mike didn’t want you to know, there’s a little gray X in the upper right corner of each story. Click on it Mike, and your biz is your biz. It sort of seems like everyone is making an unnecessary fuss. And they’re the same people who continue to log on 57 times a day. Facebook is doing what it’s always done. It’s just getting better at it.

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